


The Foolishness of Lustful Endeavours

by Moonlitdark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Covert Public Hand Job, Humor, Kilts, M/M, Ministry event, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlitdark/pseuds/Moonlitdark
Summary: Oh, god.  Harry hadnothad a fleetingly perverse sexual notion about Severus Snape.  Things like that didn’thappen.  But his thickening penis appeared to disagree wholeheartedly.Harry is about to do something extremely stupid, even for him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 12
Kudos: 174





	The Foolishness of Lustful Endeavours

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted a long time ago on Livejournal. So if it seems familiar, you've probably read it before.

“Good evening, Mr Potter.” 

Harry contemplated ignoring the unctuous tone, but encouraging furious eyes to bore a hole into the back of his head probably wouldn't assist his enjoyment of tonight’s event. Not that there was promised to be much in the way of pleasurable entertainment on the agenda, but there seemed little sense in provoking additional misery. As if this occasion wasn’t already going to be hell enough, the universe had to see fit to seat him a mere three feet from Severus Snape. Just great. Fabulous.

At least they weren’t sitting together, but for all the distance between Harry and the other nearby circled table of guests, they might as well have been. Staring straight ahead at the people amassed around his own table, he summoned forth civility. “Hello.” There. Not overly friendly, but surely not hostile enough to warrant criticism.

“I trust that you are experiencing a satisfactory summer?” 

Amazed that the man was initiating a conversation, Harry almost spat out that it was turning out to be positively _brilliant_ summer, now that he would never again need to face the prospect of daunting hours filled with ridicule and humiliation masquerading as Potions classes, but felt it wiser to opt for a monosyllabic reply.

“Yes.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. I am also curious as to whether you have yet applied for the Auror training program?”

It was not only odd, but also significantly unsettling that Snape appeared to be interested in Harry’s life. Wary, Harry didn’t turn around as he murmured, “Not yet.” 

“But you still plan to follow that course?” 

“Maybe. I suppose so.” 

“That hardly sounds enthusiastic in regard to your chosen career path.” 

Well, it hadn't taken long for the criticism to commence. 

“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm still thinking about it.”

“Does a career spent in servitude to the Ministry no longer hold the same appeal?” 

“It's _not_ servitude!” 

“It would not be freedom either.” 

Frowning, Harry tried to make sense of the strange comment. Snape hadn’t made any secret of the fact that he considered Aurors and other Ministry employees as some lower form of life, but to view them as somehow bound? 

“I am somewhat astounded that you in particular would wish to affiliate yourself with the Ministry.” 

“Well, actually, I don’t,” he admitted with a sigh, still resolutely not turning to look at Snape. “I’ve decided that there might be more useful ways to spend my time.” 

“Very wise, Potter. I had hoped that you would take cautious steps to avoid all dealings with the insidious organisation after the appallingly inexcusable way in which they failed to properly display gratitude for your valuable service to them.”

Dumfounded by the unexpectedly defensive statement, Harry was grateful that Snape couldn’t see him gape. Okay, so Harry _had_ slain a Dark Lord, but it was really just the one and surely not all that worthy of note, since it had mostly been a fortuitous stroke of luck. Harry certainly hadn't expected the Ministry to make a fuss over him. But he also hadn't predicted that they would actively belittle his achievement. Therefore, he had been more than a tad confused by the sudden insistence of the Minister to grant him an Order of Merlin when the man had spent the majority of the last year using his influence to tactlessly infer that Harry wasn’t a very good saviour after all, and that any random person plucked off the street could’ve reached the same goal, given a magical stick of wood to work with. But the Ministry’s response didn’t bother him too much; Harry was simply pleased that he no longer had an evil overlord plotting to slaughter him. Well, not that he knew of, anyway.

“It wasn’t really that big a deal.”

“On the contrary. But I wouldn’t expect your limited capacity for observation to comprehend such a conception, although it was inevitable that you would eventually succeed in correctly accomplishing at least one task.”

Harry finally swivelled in his seat to better enable him to decode Snape’s supportively insulting performance but as he turned, something else engrossed his attention. 

Snape was sitting sideways, his right leg uncovered by the draped white tablecloth. A pale knee peeked out from a few inches gap between a layer of tartan and thick white wool socks. The colour of the weave could almost echo Gryffindor red, accentuated with an overlaying intricate criss-cross of delicate yellow and black lines, contrasting beautifully with alluring, unblemished skin and narrowing Harry’s vision to that single point of interest. It should have been funnier to see Snape in a kilt, but Harry was captivated.

An impatient cough later, Harry became conscious that he was still immersed in studying that fascinating combination of skin and tartan. Betraying heat burned in Harry’s cheeks, mortification inspiring his next remark as he raised his line of sight. 

“Nice skirt. But isn’t it a bit chilly?” Harry cringed even as Snape’s dark eyes slitted.

“The building is sufficiently warmed.”

Indeed, Harry thought it was getting warmer by the second.

His mouth strangely dry, he croaked, “That’s a… a different look for you.”

“It is adequate for this gathering.”

“It’ll do, yeah.” 

Tendons flexed as Snape leant back, subtly rebalancing. Harry wasn’t still furtively watching. Really, he wasn’t. 

“I am curious as to why you deemed denim to be appropriate attire for the most important Ministry event of the year.”

“It’s just… more comfortable,” he shrugged, attempting casualness, fixing his gaze to Snape’s. 

“So, your adornment would not be an indication of your true feelings towards the Ministry?”

Harry’s true feelings at that moment were not in the _least_ concerned with the bloody Ministry. He was absorbed in wondering how it would taste if he bit viciously at Snape’s curling lip and how it would feel to creep under that tartan, hitching it upwards…

Oh, god. Harry had _not_ had a fleetingly perverse sexual notion about Severus Snape. Things like that didn’t _happen_. But his thickening penis appeared to disagree wholeheartedly. 

Through the shockwaves of this unexpectedly rapid arousal, Harry had a vague recollection that he was supposed to speak. Maybe even that a question had been asked, he just couldn’t remember what it was. Rather than admitting his incompetence (or temporary insanity), he turned clumsily back to the table, hiding his embarrassment. 

“I see that your conversational skills have not improved.” That drawling condescension wasn’t helping.

“I’ll… work on them,” Harry mumbled, relieved when the sole response was a scornful sniff.

The Minister of Magic had been droning on for a long time about the war, accolades and the like before an utterly terrifying thought occurred to Harry. He was going to be called up soon. He would need to walk past all of these people, stand on a stage for inspection and they were all going to witness that Harry Potter had a noticeable bulge sticking out of the front of his jeans. 

Suddenly his petty refusal to wear formal garments seemed stupid in the extreme. A black-tie dress code didn’t mean that a kilt was a prerequisite, a robe or suit would’ve sufficed perfectly well, but no, he had to childishly flip the bird to the establishment by wearing a t-shirt, faded jeans and trainers, optimistically hoping that they’d refuse to let him in. But that very lack of necessity raised the question in his mind of why Hogwarts’ feared and esteemed Head of Slytherin House had selected tartan as his outfit of choice. Or why Harry was finding the spectacle so interesting. Perhaps the apparel was a personal tribute to McGonagall, Harry surmised. After all, the award Snape was going to receive was connected to her heroic death, sort of. Harry was sure he that knew the connection, but was experiencing increasing difficulty concentrating on any thoughts which didn’t include accessories such as leather, whips, iron shackles and an endless soundtrack showcasing the triumphant bellow of wild Scottish clansmen.

It was only when Harry caught himself perusing that Snape might possess chains readily prepared for easy use in his cold, dark dungeon and if ankle cuffs in the man’s possession would come complete with a sturdy spreader bar, that Harry forced himself to reality once again with a shudder.

This was becoming absurd. Harry should not be getting this excited over what was essentially just a piece of bare, pallid leg. A bony, unattractive knee, not a succulent delight to be sampled by luscious licks, nibbled and sucked upon…

Squirming, he willed the blood pooling in his groin to dissipate, but focusing on that part of his anatomy only served to spur it on to greater heights. 

Harry shuffled down in his seat, tugging surreptitiously at his t-shirt, wishing he had worn a longer garment and that there weren’t so many other onlookers in the room.

“I think this will fit you, dear,” the elderly woman sitting to his left cooed softly.

Startled, Harry flicked his gaze over and noticed that a large bundle of black cloth was being proffered under the table. 

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the situation or sob with acute embarrassment. “I…”

“I thought it might help,” she whispered.

The illumination of Harry’s blush was likely comparable to a radioactive firefly.

“Wh - where did you…?”

“Oh, it’s an easy spell. Useful for… unpredictably self-conscious moments.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, taking a shaky hold of the gift, deeply appreciative that the women hadn’t suggested a ‘useful’ spell for controlling rampant erections, although that would certainly come in very handy about now.

Leaning forward and avoiding all eye contact, Harry clamped his lower lip between his teeth to stifle a moan as his enthusiasm rubbed against damp underwear, and slid his arms into the refuge of the robe. 

The closeness of the snide voice behind him triggered a depth of dread that no mockery during classes had ever come close to achieving. 

“So, Potter, the fact that you were lax in acquiring suitable garments for this occasion has reduced you to accepting clothing from strangers. Pitiful.”

Oh. _God_. Did Snape know why he needed the robe? Had he overheard everything? And why was the idea that Snape might realise that he was responsible sending a quiver of anticipation down Harry’s spine? 

Well, Harry reasoned as he yanked the robe protectively over his lap, it was Snape’s own damn fault - parading around half naked, what were people supposed to think? He would never have given that lank body a second glance had his former professor been dressed normally. Harry was almost convinced of that fact. 

There was no other option but to diligently ignore the source of the problem. Shouldn’t be too difficult, there were after all many other fascinating people at this table to engage in conversation. The brown-haired man a few seats along was even sort of cute. But somehow, cute wasn’t what Harry’s current desire was yearning for.

The evening wore on at a torturous pace. Though he was hazily aware that a meal had arrived at some point during the celebration, Harry’s appetite had abandoned him. He only weakly recalled standing on the raised platform while the Minister gibbered about duty, sacrifice and recognition and some other topics not worth listening to, before a medal had been hung around his neck and an elaborately designed piece of glass thrust towards Harry to rapturous applause. 

Eventually Snape collected his own medal and lump of glass and sauntered on the return journey towards his seat. Resolutely not looking at the black leather sporran swaying temptingly with each step, Harry kept his head down. No good whatsoever could come of Snape noticing the now ever-presently straining penis still struggling to free itself from the confines of Harry’s jeans. This prolonged state of pent-up arousal was threatening to become too hard to contain and Harry knew that he was going to need to do something about it. But what he _wanted_ to do about it seemed entirely unacceptable for many, many reasons. 

Wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow and shaking his head to clear the latest batch of athletically limber positions his imagination was relishing, Harry’s heart skipped several beats as Snape sidled into the suddenly empty chair to Harry’s right side. The man’s unfaltering superiority should’ve served as a warning to tread with caution, not as fire to further expand an already throbbing groin.

But as long, precise fingers adjusted the pleats of tartan, laying them flat with careful attentiveness under the overhanging tablecloth, Harry began to see an advantage in the new seating arrangements. Harry was so seldom able to act on impulse to take something that he really wanted without open critique from the world in general. Though he recognised that this was perhaps not the ideal venue to begin taking charge of his life, frazzled brain cells informed him that he had to start somewhere. So, in the spirit of new beginnings, Harry’s right hand slid off his own thigh onto the neighbouring man’s before sensible dialogue could dissuade. Letting his palm lie flush with the plaid, Harry enjoyed the quivers his touch was yielding, waiting to see if either a derisive comment or a hex would be thrown his way.

Snape scowled and tilted his head in obvious surprise, but the offending appendage remained unscathed and no jet of green light halted proceedings. 

Feeling foolishly bold, Harry skimmed his hand down the weave, seeking the hem, astonished that he hadn’t been painfully reprimanded for his presumptuousness. Perhaps that would come later, but for now he had other concerns. Like easing under the wool, unhurriedly discovering a velvety carpet of soft cushioning hairs. 

Harry almost lost control of his tightly held orgasm when, instead of the expected barrier of cotton, coarser hairs met his fingertips. As he explored wiry strands under the tent of heavy material, Harry’s surname name was a quiet gasp, accompanying his firm encirclement of his prize. 

“Potter…”

Confidence surging at the unshielded lust in that intonation, he glided lightly along the length of the cock in his hand, blindly investigating every nuance of the flesh beneath his touch. The unusual sound which emanated from Snape as Harry’s thumb pressed firmly into the moist slit alerted the helpful lady still sitting on Harry’s other side. Her scrutinizing gaze shifted from Harry to Snape (where she was greeted by a typically curling sneer of resentment), before settling on a politely beaming Harry. At this point his embarrassment should be recurring in full force, but the slight lifting of Snape’s hips bolstered his spirits too much for any awkwardness to spoil this moment.

With a small smile of knowing cordiality, the woman re-joined her conversation with two balding wizards across the table. 

Grinning as the wizards nodded politely in his direction, Harry returned to his task. Careful not to attract anymore undue attention, he kept all movements slow, gradually spreading moisture down from the tip of Snape’s cock. The groan from the man in his clutches was more vibration than noise. 

Snape’s stoic (if slightly flushed) expression didn’t falter as Snape assessed the masses; the only indications of the steady activity below the surface of the table were tiny, almost imperceptible rasping inhalations.

Until a painfully firm grip on Harry’s wrist abruptly ceased the venture.

Now, _this_ was awkward. It was surprising how quickly one’s more sensible faculties could recover when one’s hand was wrapped around the erection of a murderously glowering Snape. 

This would be the instant to retreat, Harry realised. The ideal intermission to mumble apologies, make babbling excuses for his inappropriate behaviour and hastily flee the premises. But this was about finally taking what he wanted, and hoping that it was wanted in return. Harry levelled an unwavering stare, silently issuing a challenge, a promise, an invitation.

The grip on his wrist pulled Harry’s hand briefly along the heat before coolly resolute fingers prised his away and out into the cooler air. The incensed twitch at the side of Snape’s mouth didn’t advise an argument. 

Snape again adjusted the pleats of his kilt. “I suggest that you hastily remove yourself from the vicinity of this table, Mr Potter.”

Feeling obliged to speak didn’t assist with what to actually say. But of course, Harry was in the presence of an insidious Potions Master, and consequently not given the chance to compose witty repartee.

“ _Now_ , Potter.”

Flinching at the curt snarl and gulping at the probable repercussions, Harry rose, clutching the edge of the table for support. Scanning the crowded room, he wondered why all these people hadn’t seemed in as dangerously close proximity before.

“Don’t go far. You have an important task which awaits completion.”

As Harry’s chair scraped against the polished floor to stress the clumsiness of his exit, a quiet chuckle issued from his left.

“Have fun, dear. These Ministry occasions can be extremely dull.”

Walking away from the table, Harry debated where would be a suitable place to wait. But wait for what? Was he searching for an easily locatable site for his body to be ripped limb from limb, (a public venue would seem best to avoid that unhappy occurrence) or a secluded nook or room in which to be thoroughly ravished?

There were so many things which disturbed Harry about those musings. Not only that he might have foolishly placed himself in a perilous situation, but also that his imagination had made casual use of the word ‘ravished’.

Aching to look back, it took sheer force of will to keep walking. Harry decided that somewhere public would be the safest option, reasoning that Snape wouldn’t cause him permanent damage with a multitude of spectators, but could request to relocate if other less fatal activities were scheduled. He shortly picked a quiet spot by the door, far enough from the crowd to allow for quiet conversation, but close enough for people to hear the screaming. Thankful for the fearful deflating of his penis, Harry scuffed his feet uneasily while he awaited his fate. 

In due course a swish of tartan approached. On arrival, an excruciating seizing of Harry’s upper arm steered him towards an unknown destination. The scenario of being displaced under duress to gain privacy for subsequent maiming unfortunately had been overlooked. As had the possibility of apparition.

The instant they reappeared with a crack, Harry was propelled roughly towards the floor.

Eyes widening as he rolled over to remove his face from the hideous orange carpet, Harry didn’t think that this was a good time to savour his new vantage point. To protect the professor’s dignity and his own safety if the reanimation of Harry’s cock was perceived, Harry scooted backwards to reduce temptation. 

His anxiety increased with the gravity of Snape’s irate scowl. “Do you think that the saviour of the wizarding world can do as he pleases? That humiliation and public degradation of others is acceptable now that you have a cheap piece of metal around your neck?”

Desperate to regain the upper hand, Harry blurted, “No, I was finally doing something that I wanted to do! Didn’t you kind of… imply something like that?” 

Snape positively _loomed_. “Obviously, I was naïve in my presumption that what you wished would not include the publicly indecent mauling of your elders.”

“I didn’t… maul you.”

“Then perhaps you could explain the incident, to clarify my understanding.”

“I just… well, you looked… and I just, you know…”

“Regrettably, I do _not_ know. However, I look forward to becoming enlightened.”

“I…”

“I’m waiting.”

“It’s just… you look really good,” Harry confessed with the barest whisper, staring intently at a wayward piece of fluff on the carpet between his knees.

The compliment didn’t yield the desired effect; if anything, Snape looked further riled. “Stand up, you stupid boy.”

That endearment certainly helped to clear Harry’s head. Shoving himself off the thick pile, he stood on shaking legs, coming up short good few inches on Snape’s height. He prayed that the robe still provided an adequate disguise.

“So, where are we?” Harry asked, trying for amiability. 

“We have not gone far. I thought that it would be prudent to conduct this conversation without inquisitive ears.”

“How far?”

“That isn’t the crucial issue,” Snape growled. “Rather, you should be dreading the serious penalties of your impudence.” 

“It wasn’t all that serious, surely?” Harry implored, striving for a heartening smile.

“If you consider sexual assault not to be a serious matter, then no.”

Oh, that was bloody outrageous. “It was hardly _assault_! You didn’t exactly get around to fighting me off for a while, did you?”

“I was merely caught off guard. Excuse me for not foreseeing that a former student would manhandle my penis under the dining table.”

His own penis giving an approving pulse at the memory; Harry couldn’t believe he was still turned on by this shambles in spite of everything. “I didn’t manhandle it – I was doing a ruddy good job! And you could’ve just told me to get lost, you didn’t need to kidnap me, or whatever you’ve done! I want to know where the fuck we _are_!”

Harry’s explosive rant was cut off by the dismissive wave of a hand.

“Calm down. We have simply moved ourselves upstairs.”

“ _We_ didn’t do anything, _you_ moved us.”

“Would you rather we discussed this in the presence of the Minister?”

Harry would rather they discussed it in the presence of reliable witnesses. During the scan of his surroundings, he had spotted one article of furniture in particular which was making him feel fairly jittery.

“No… but, there’s… a bed in here.”

“Your powers of observation are improving.”

“Oh, piss off.”

“Very well. If that is your preference.”

That man could make any costume billow with an impressive twirl.

“Well… I mean, you don’t have to rush or anything,” Harry gibbered. What was he _doing_? Snape had offered to leave peacefully and therefore should be allowed to do exactly that, not encouraged to stay and change his mind about maiming. “I was only asking _why_ there’s a bed in here.”

Snape sighed. “If I am to be required to explain every evident detail, my patience could rapidly expire. This is what one might term a bedroom, Potter.”

“But why are there bedrooms in the Ministry of Magic?”

“I presume even Ministry workers need to amuse themselves somehow. Or perchance even sleep, if the case requires constant supervision. It was the most conveniently vacant space.”

The presence of those undisturbed covers was nervously distracting. Harry didn’t want to know how Snape had been aware that this bedroom was here. Or, maybe he did.

“Is there a particular reason for your fascination with the item, Potter?”

“Umm… no.”

“Perhaps you were contemplating utilising it to finish what you started?”

Deserted by his earlier confidence, Harry was experiencing severe difficulty processing the string of events.

“Unless you would rather that I took you to my deep, dark dungeon to make use of my accessible array of spreader bars?”

Legilimency was verging on rude, thought Harry. But in retrospect, so was sticking his hand uninvited up another man’s kilt.

“I…”

“You have the most irritating habit of failing to properly finish your sentences.”

“I…”

“Exactly.” As Snape neared, Harry withdrew on instinct. “I want to know why you touched me.”

“I told you why.”

A palm on Harry’s torso pushed him against elaborately garish wallpaper. “What did you hope to gain from it?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Why_?” Snape was so close now that Harry could feel spittle sprinkle on his face, and there was nowhere left to retreat. “ _Answer_ me!” The heel of a hand dug agonizingly into a rib, punctuating Snape’s words. Harry’s need to pacify his aggressor inspired the truth. 

“Because I was attracted to you!”

“And you expect me to believe that you suddenly found me so irresistibly attractive that you failed to inhibit your burning lust? I’m not an idiot, Potter. What did you _really_ want?”

Despite the accurate review, another jab of pain hitched Harry’s breath. “I wanted _you_. But I suppose that I was the one being an idiot,” Harry choked, wrenching at Snape’s rigid arm.

Snape didn’t budge. Harry shoved again, to no avail.

“You wanted sex.” It wasn’t a query.

“Yes.” 

“And that was all you desired?”

Giving up his efforts, Harry sighed, “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to find out.”

Sagging as the pressure relented; Harry felt the robe slide seductively from his shoulders. 

“What’re… you doing?” 

“Providing you with an opportunity.” 

A strong, angular form pinned him in place with smothering warmth, efficiently positioning his frame to meet Snape’s requirements. 

Urgency recovered Harry’s voice. “Don’t…”

Lips brushed against his neck, muffling the scorn. “Have you re-evaluated your lunacy already?”

Revived mortification seeking another topic, Harry pointed vaguely across the room. “You know, there is a bed over there.”

“Your point being?”

The body pinning him peeled away, but Harry wasted momentary freedom of movement watching Snape work at buttons, shedding a shirt from pale skin, dropping it in a nonchalant pile. It would be so effortless to reach out, follow that trail of black hair, gnaw at those pink nipples… 

“Just that… it seems a shame to be standing when there’s a comfy mattress.”

“If you have the patience to relocate, then feel free.”

Snape’s hand reached out, fingers claiming Harry’s irrepressible bulge, moulding to the shape. Whimpering at the overwhelming pressure on his cock which was about to generate remarkable results, Harry babbled, “I – I’m too… I’m gonna… come if you do that.”

“Then come, Potter,” Snape drawled, pressing harder. Harry’s hip was clasped, rocking him away from the wall.

All it took was a few passes to draw out what Harry had taken great care to restrain. Seeping through the denim, the discharge of too long contained frustration was announced with Harry’s cry of relief.

He was frantically refilling his lungs when a familiar grip on his wrist guided him under the weave of Snape’s kilt. All former knowledge of proprieties was swiftly forsaken as sneering lips closed in to kiss Harry; a combined flavour of rich wine and spices to complement the meticulous strokes of Harry’s hand.

When air was sucked out of Harry’s mouth as Snape tensed, Harry’s hand immediately froze and released, receiving a rumbling growl in response. 

“ _Potter_ , if you don’t bloody finish what you -” 

“Shh,” he soothed, pivoting them together with strength and determination, depositing Snape in Harry’s previous place.

Questions and demands shone from ominously black eyes, all of which Harry mutely answered, sinking to his knees.

“Take this off,” Harry instructed, caressing leather.

With startlingly prompt compliance, the sporran was dutifully unbuckled and dropped to the floor.

Raising the pleats, Harry surveyed the object of his fondling, inhaled a musky scent. Leaned in to sample one salty, bitter drop. Fingers twined in his hair, pulling downwards, but he held his neck taut. Everything he had discovered by touch, Harry tasted with leisurely exploration. 

Finally, tucking the hem of tartan into the waistband to hold it securely, Harry placed his palms against the wall, surrendering control. He angled his neck as the first thrust sank deep, straining to relax, open wider to accommodate the girth, unsure if this was as good an idea as he’d first thought. But as handfuls of his hair were brutally twisted and Snape relentlessly plunged, Harry’s libido appreciated that it was an absolutely _inspired_ plan.

That is, until he began to steadily suffocate. Just as Harry was about to give in to the alarming need to admit the crisis and accept the frightening ramifications of forcibly extracting Snape’s cock, the angle was changed, and air rushed into Harry’s lungs. A second later, the hold on his hair intensified, mashing his face into a bed of curls, signalling the first wave of liquid. As moisture hit the back of his throat, all concerns regarding an impending death by oral sex vanished and Harry would’ve purred in pleasure had he been in a better position to create sound. 

Dragging them both down to fall jointly in a heap wasn’t the most graceful finale to their union; Harry gauged the reaction. The man half atop him looked amused, almost _smiling_. Chalking it up to a post-orgasmic hallucination, Harry lay panting, elated at the emergence of his newest erection and pondering his next move.

But a distinct upwards curving still lingered on Snape’s face. Deciding that Snape must be about to utter some especially scathing slur, Harry got his in first.

“What?” he snapped. Not a memorable line, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

“Did you gather sufficient information to make your decision?”

“Decision?”

Harry hesitated under Snape's cool assessment. 

“I believe that I mentioned an opportunity.”

“Oh.” Harry was confused; hadn’t he just taken that opportunity?

“Unless you would prefer to proceed without further contact?”

Harry pondered an enticing, but irrational proposition.

“Think faster, Potter.”

“Yeah, I think that might be okay,” he grinned. “Further contact, I mean. That could be fun.”

“I imagine it will scarcely be _fun_ ,” Snape scoffed, “but I imagine that additional experimentation as to the extent of your lunacy would at least be… moderately intriguing.”

As that alluring bare knee and the supple thigh above it shifted alongside Harry’s denim clad leg, Harry regarded his lunacy to have been more than satisfyingly productive.


End file.
